


A friend of mine

by WhatIWasSuggesting



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Evil Mary, Gen, Horror, Language confirm show standard, Mystery, Mystery/Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIWasSuggesting/pseuds/WhatIWasSuggesting
Summary: When Sherlock disappears John is thrown into a frenzy - will Lestrade be able to find him, or will more sinister characters win the day?Updates on Wednesdays.





	1. Appointment at Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** BBC Sherlock is not mine. There would be far more episodes if it was. I just borrow the characters and let them die. Because that’s what people DO. 
> 
> **Author note:** It’s my first time writing horror. It’s usually not really my area, but this nasty idea popped in my head and it can’t hurt to try. Well, can't hurt me. The characters? That is a whole different story. Be advised, I didn't add the horror tag for nothing. There is no graphic description of violence but the idea is disturbing. 
> 
> This work contains four chapters and will be updated weekly.
> 
> As always I want to thank my wonderful beta readers: Alex, Peggy and Tami. You guys are awesome and I wouldn't be able to produce this level of quality without your critical eye.

Slow days weren’t uncommon. As a matter of fact, even the most exciting days at the surgery were slow compared to the time John spent with Sherlock Holmes following up on leads and chasing down criminals. Sometimes, quite literally.

His eyes drifted towards the clock. Only 10 minutes had passed since he had last looked. That couldn’t be right.

His phone vibrated and John picked it up. With some luck it would be Sherlock, providing him with an excuse to leave early. God, he wanted to leave early. He was disappointed by a text from Mary instead, reminding him to buy milk. Annoyed, he lowered the phone and eyed the clock again. Why couldn’t she get the bloody milk herself? 

Another vibration alerted him of a new message. Now what? He glanced at the screen to see what else his lying wife needed him for now, but it was Sherlock’s name gracing the top of the list. 

_Meet me at Baker street in an hour -S_

A smile spread over John’s face. That was more like it. 

_I’ll be right there._

He waited patiently as Sherlock was typing a message.

_Use your key, I need to see Mary first._

John frowned. What did he need Mary for? 

_Get some milk while you’re at it._

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to reply.

_No time, see you in an hour._

John leaned back in his chair. Oh well, it was worth a try. He looked around his office. The surgery would be fine without him, he was about done for the day anyway. Besides, it was rush hour, and the trip to Baker Street could take longer. The one good thing about having a pregnant wife was that nobody questioned him if he left a little early. It was a feature of marriage he had come to appreciate. 

John smiled as he got to his feet. Finally, something to look forward to. He closed his laptop and gathered his things. It was a little past four when he said goodbye to his temporary assistant and left the surgery. 

 

***

221B Baker Street still felt like home, more so than the little flat he shared with Mary. That was only his official address, the one he filled out on forms and where he received his Christmas cards. It was as fake as his marriage. 

He closed the door behind him. He was early. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, taking a full hour to get to Baker Street was a bit much, even during rush hour. He figured he would just work on his blog as he waited. It was lagging behind since Sherlock had returned from his extremely short lived exile. Sherlock was burning through cases at an impressive rate now that he had been cleared of all charges concerning Magnussen, or more accurately, since Mycroft had made it all go away. Like a proper big brother, as Sherlock put it.

It felt like he had just sat down when he became aware of the muffled sound of the doorbell coming from the fridge. John quickly got up, but before he could even get out of the living room he heard the familiar footsteps of Mrs. Hudson rushing to the door to answer. A moment later he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. 

Greg appeared in the doorway. “John, I should have known you’d be here.” 

“I could say the same. Sherlock called you?” John moved towards the kitchen. Greg followed him with his hands in the pockets of his coat. 

“Texted.” The DI’s eyes scanned the equipment scattered over the kitchen table. “He’s not here yet?”

“Right, texted.” John filled the kettle and turned it on. “He went to see Mary earlier, he’ll be here any minute now. He asked to meet me here at 5.”

“Good, I’m not the only one running late then.”

John glanced at his watch. 5:30. That was odd. Sherlock was a lot of things, but late was rarely one of them. The kettle boiled and clicked, interrupting John’s train of thoughts. 

“Tea?”

“No thanks, I’ll be off as soon as possible. I have a thing.”

John poured himself a cup of tea, went back to the living room and sunk in his chair. Greg followed suit and pulled up a chair for himself. The two of them hadn’t had a proper chat in quite a while, but they carried on as if it was just yesterday. Time passed. 30 minutes soon turned into 45 minutes, and then into an hour. They tried texting Sherlock, but there was no response.

Just as he was about to text Sherlock once again, his phone rang. A strange mixture of disappointment and annoyance washed over him as Mary’s name appeared on the screen.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this. It’s Mary.” He apologized to Greg. The DI made an understanding gesture. John answered the phone as he stood up and moved to the kitchen. “Mary.”

_“Hello John. I was wondering when you’re coming home and if you have time to pick up some milk.”_

“I’m not sure. I left the surgery early to meet Sherlock at Baker Street and I might be home late.”

_“Well, tell Sherlock not to keep you too long. I really need you to run by the store to get milk.”_

John frowned. “He’s not with you?”

_“No, why would he be?”_

It made sense. If Sherlock was still with Mary he would have replied to his messages. He usually did. John bit his lip. “You haven’t seen him at all today?”

_“No. Why?”_

“Nothing. I need to go.” Before Mary could protest, he ended the call. His fingers flew over the display to find Sherlock’s number. His heart pounded in his chest as he listened to the dial tone. “Come on, pick up. Pick up. Pick up!” John muttered to himself as he made his way back to the living room.

Greg got to his feet. “What?”

Voicemail. John lowered the phone, looking down at it in horror. “He’s not answering.”

“Who? Sherlock?” Greg gave him an uncomprehending look. “Well, that’s not unusual, is it?”

John hit the call button again and held the phone to his ear. “He didn’t make it to Mary’s, either. She said she didn’t see him all day.” His gaze met Greg’s. He could tell the DI wasn’t as troubled by the news as he was.

He was redirected to voicemail again. Frustrated, he ended the call.

“Maybe he’s just busy…”

“No. If he were busy he would have ignored the call. He hasn’t replied to his texts either. There is nothing that keeps Sherlock Holmes occupied for…” He glanced at his watch. “… almost an hour. Something is wrong.”

Greg shuffled his feet. “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions. You know what he’s like, he just got distracted by…”

“By what? A murder?”

“Something like that, yeah.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Look, John. I need to get going. Let me know when he turns up, okay?” 

John glimpsed at the phone in his hand. There was definitely something wrong.

“John?” Greg was already in the doorway. “Let me know.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

The smile Greg gave him was a mixture of worry and pity, and did nothing to soothe John’s anxiety. 

“I’ll let myself out.”

John nodded and looked at his phone, his thumb lingering over the call button. Maybe the third time would be the charm. Please, God, let him answer.

_“You’ve reached Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message, don’t be boring.”_

John waited for the beep.

“Sherlock, you better have a bloody good reason for ignoring me. Call me when you get this.” He hung up and typed another message. Just a voicemail wasn’t enough to express his frustration at this point.

_Pick up your bloody phone!_

He slid back into his chair. There wasn’t a lot he could do, except wait.

During the night he tried calling Sherlock over and over again. The voicemails he had left and the text messages he had typed took every tone from threatening bodily harm to pleading for Sherlock to reply.

Eventually he had fallen asleep in his chair.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up to the sound of Mary walking past him. When he cracked open his eyes, he saw her standing by the mantelpiece, picking up the skull. He closed his eyes and groaned. He could hear Mary shift around. He straightened his back and neck. His body was sore all over from sleeping in an awkward position, and protested against the movement. He was too old for this.

“Oh, John. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Mary.” John groaned as he opened his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, my husband didn’t come home last night, so I went to check on him.” She threw him an amused look. “Is that a real skull?” she nudged her head towards the skull on the mantelpiece.

“Christ knows.” He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched his arms. “Did Sherlock get home?”

He reached for his phone and checked his messages. Sherlock still hadn’t replied. His heart sank.

“Maybe he’s in his room.”

John turned around and marched through the kitchen to Sherlock’s bedroom. He placed a hand on the doorknob and knocked with his other hand.

“Sherlock?”

He waited. There was no reply.

“Sherlock? Are you in there?”

There was still no reply.

“I’m coming in.” John announced before he opened the door.

He stepped into the room. The curtains were drawn, and John needed a moment to adjust to the dark. It was messy, like the rest of the flat, with random objects and half-finished experiments lying around. John’s eyes rested on the bed. It was unmade and unmistakably empty. Sherlock wasn’t here.

John just stood there, taking it all in. He had half expected to find his friend passed out on the bed, in a coma like sleep after staying out all night, blissfully unaware of what he had put his best friend through. John’s shoulders dropped and he let out a sigh.

“Not there, is he?” Marry called from the living room.

John pressed his lips together. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He quickly got it out, hoping it was Sherlock, finally answering his calls. Disappointment washed over him when he was greeted by the caller ID. It was Lestrade. Maybe he had news. 

“Hello.”

_“Hey John, it’s Greg. Did Sherlock show up yet?”_

“No, no. He didn’t.” John rubbed his face. “I take it he didn’t answer your messages, either?”

_“Not a single one.”_

“That’s it. Are you at Scotland Yard?”

John closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked back to the living room. Mary was sitting in Sherlock’s chair.

_“Yeah, I’m at the Yard.”_

“I’m coming in to file a missing person’s report.”

Mary tilted her head. John turned away, unwilling to deal with her while he was on the phone.

_“I’ll see you in a bit then. Bye.”_

“Yeah, Bye.” John lowered his phone.

“I’m going with you.” She said before he could say anything.

“Mary…”

“Yoo-hoo!” Mrs. Hudson entered the kitchen, holding a large pan with both hands. She set it down on the stove and rested her arms on the counter. “Oh dear, that was heavier than I thought.” She chuckled.

“Mrs. Hudson.”

“Is Sherlock back yet? I didn’t hear him come in.” She moved closer, when she entered the living room she saw Mary. “Oh, hello, Mary.”

“When was it you saw him last?”

Mrs. Hudson looked at John. “Oh, it was yesterday around four. He was rather in a hurry, barely said a word when he left. I thought he wouldn’t be out long.”

“I was supposed to meet him at five. He didn’t show up.”

“Oh dear, you think something has happened to him?” She folded her arms. Her eyes went from John to Mary and back.

John picked his coat up and put it on. “I don’t know, but I’m going to see Lestrade. File a missing person’s report.”

Mary shifted in Sherlock’s chair and struggled to her feet. “I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure…”

“Yes, I’m sure. Sherlock is also my friend. I want to help.” She walked past John towards the door. John’s gaze followed her as she went. She paused in the doorway. Her hands rested on her pregnant belly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s find Sherlock.”


	2. Hide and seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m supposed to be enjoying my holiday, instead, I found a way to get online and get you guys this new Chapter. (Hooray for McDonalds!) 
> 
> A special thanks to my two wonderful betas: Alex, Peggy and Tami. You guys are awesome and I wouldn’t be able to produce this level of quality without your critical eye.

Why exactly Sherlock referred to Scotland Yard as dull or boring was beyond John, but to be fair, Sherlock would call his own murder dull, given the right circumstances.

The missing person’s report was filled out relatively fast, apart from Sherlock’s date of birth. It was rather painful when they found out none of them knew when Sherlock’s birthday was. John realized that in the 5 years he had known the detective, they had never celebrated it. Not even once. After consulting official records they found out it was the 6th of January. John marked it down in his calendar. Mary gave him a look. 

John was grateful that Greg took time to file the report himself. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t his job, but it was nice to have a friendly face around. Somebody who didn’t roll their eyes at the name of Sherlock Holmes. John was certain that half of Scotland Yard was secretly relieved the arrogant detective had vanished. 

“This must be what it feels like to have a drug addicted, teenage son.” Mary’s voice had interrupted his train of thought. 

He glared at his wife. Her attitude bothered him. She had been all smiles since they left Baker Street this morning, cracking one joke after the other. She didn’t seem concerned for Sherlock’s safety at all. It was like a game to her, one that she was excited to play. John didn’t share that sentiment. 

“Sherlock is not a teenager.”

She smiled. “Are you sure?” 

Before John could reply, his phone rang. John’s mouth twitched as he saw the caller ID. It was the wrong Holmes. 

“Mycroft.”

_“Hello, John. My little brother is playing hide and seek again, I see?”_

It was like Mycroft had his little brother on this fancy government text alert. John should have known. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“What is it you want, Mycroft?”

_“Don’t you think a missing person’s report is a little... dramatic?”_

John snorted. Mycroft, of all people, calling him dramatic. Now he had really seen everything.

“It’s what normal people do when somebody goes missing. They go to the police, fill out a missing person’s report. You know, for people who don’t have government resources available to them.”

_“Surely this is not the first time Sherlock’s gone missing.”_ There was a pause. _“You could have contacted me.”_

“Yeah, sure, I’ll send a car. Oh wait, that’s what you do.”

Mycroft ignored John’s snarky comment, which was probably for the best. _“I have people tracing his phone as we speak, since you seem so concerned.”_

“That’s nice of you.”

_“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Dr. Watson?”_

“No, no. It’s really heartwarming how you hijack the machinery of the state to look after your own family.”

_“Believe it or not, my brother occasionally has utility to the nation and therefore can be viewed as an asset.”_

“An asset, really?”

_“And a liability, all at once.”_

There was a pause. John rolled his eyes. Imagine if people knew that you actually care for your younger brother, like a normal human being. It had to be a downright nightmare, judging by the way Mycroft handled the whole situation. 

There were muffled voices on the other side of the line. Mary tried to draw his attention, but he dismissed her. 

_“It seems Sherlock disabled his phone, we cannot trace it.”_

John sat up straight in his chair. “What?”

_“He disabled his phone. Clearly, he does not want to be found.”_

“Or someone doesn’t want him to be found.”

Mycroft laughed. _“I assure you, Sherlock can take excellent care of himself, when he chooses to apply himself to that sort of thing.”_

“Something is wrong, Mycroft. I’m worried something has happened to him.”

_“Worry is a misuse of your imagination, doctor. Sherlock will no doubt turn up sooner or later. In the meantime, I suggest you check his bolt holes. I recommend starting at the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery, he seems to favor that one lately. Good day, John.”_

John lowered his phone and stared at Mary.

“What is it? What did he say?”

“Sherlock turned off his phone. He can’t be traced.”

“What was his last known location?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Who didn’t say what?” John looked over his shoulder. Greg had returned with coffee.

“That was Mycroft.”

Greg raised his eyebrows as he set down the tray on the desk. “Well, that was quick. The report has barely been processed.”

“He tried to trace Sherlock’s phone, but he couldn’t get a location.”

“He turned it off?”

Mary laughed. John and Greg looked at her in surprise.

“Well, obviously he turned it off. He’s not an idiot, he knows it can be tracked. I bet it’s the drugs again.” John glared at her. She sounded way too cheerful. When she caught sight of him she raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you can’t seriously be surprised! Not after you dragged him out of a drug den, and after what happened on the plane. Really, John, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure this out.”

“Did you check any of his bolt holes?” Greg leaned against his desk. John looked down. He had been so sure something was wrong that he hadn’t considered looking for Sherlock first. Greg folded his arms. “Did you?”

John looked up. “Something is wrong. Sherlock wouldn’t have summoned us to Baker Street if he wasn’t going to show up.”

Greg shrugged. “It’s Sherlock, for all I know he’s running an experiment on us.”

“Besides, don’t you think that if someone took him, he would be smart enough to get a message through to you somehow?”

That was the first useful thing Mary had said since Sherlock had gone missing. He had to admit, it was hard to argue with that logic. Somehow, Sherlock always managed to come out on top. Odds were, he found some way to get word out if he did get into trouble. John bit his lip. It still didn’t feel right, but at least it gave him something to do. 

“Maybe I missed it…”

Greg leaned forward a bit. “Sorry, what?”

“I must have missed it.” John got to his feet and grabbed his coat. Greg’s eyes followed his every move. 

“Where are you going?”

“Mary is right, if something happened Sherlock would find a way to tell us. I’m going back to Baker Street.”

“How about his bolt holes?”

John paused. “Can you check them out?”

Greg sighed. “Strictly speaking, it’s not my job to go out and search for missing people…”

John looked away, doing his best to hide his disappointment. He managed a weak smile as he looked back at Greg. “I understand…”

Greg rested his hands on the desk. “I’ll see what I can do, I may have some time to spare. During lunch maybe.”

“Thanks, Greg. Check Hampstead Cemetery first.”

“The leaning tomb?”

“That’s the one.” 

Mary pushed herself to her feet. “I suppose we’re off then.”

John waited for her by the door. His patience was wearing thin. Everything about Mary annoyed him, and especially her slow pace. He was convinced she did it on purpose. When they finally made it out he hailed a cab.

The ride to Baker street was quiet. John looked out the window, wishing he could somehow speed up time. There was a sense of urgency that he couldn’t quite place. He toyed with his phone, glancing down at it from time to time. 

When they finally arrived, John bolted from the car, leaving Mary to deal with the cabby. He strode to the door as he fiddled with his keys, dropping them in his haste to find the right one. As he picked them up the door opened. In the doorway was Mrs. Hudson. She shrieked as she caught sight of him. 

“Oh! John. You startled me!” 

“Mrs. Hudson. I’m so sorry.” John stammered. “Have you heard anything from Sherlock?”

“I’m afraid not, dear. How did it go at the Yard?”

“Good, good. We filled out a missing person’s report.” John paused. “Mrs. Hudson, do you know when Sherlock’s birthday is?”

“Of course, dear. It’s the 6th of January. I don’t make a fuss. Sherlock likes to be left alone on his birthday. I tried to make him a cake once, dreadful day.” She shook her head.

“Oh, stop beating yourself up over it.” Mary had caught up, her hand resting on her belly. John rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t you know?” Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows. “Oh! You didn’t know!” She laughed as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you’re such a lovely doctor.” She chuckled and stepped past them. John’s gaze followed her. Wait, what?

Mary smiled as entered the house. John followed her up the stairs and into the living room. The flat felt strangely lifeless. His eyes lingered on Sherlock’s chair. What if Sherlock wouldn’t return? His mouth went dry. He quickly dismissed the thought. Sherlock would be back in his chair before they knew it, complaining about boring cases and dull clients. Quite possibly setting the flat on fire or blowing it up with one of his experiments. Just like it had always been.

He tore his eyes away from the chair and walked over to the desk. It was littered with notes and seemingly random objects. John tapped the desk with his fingertips, looking for anything out of place. That was easier said than done in the chaos Sherlock called his flat. 

Unsure where to start, John stood by the desk, searching the flat for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes fell on the letters stabbed to the mantelpiece. He moved past Sherlock’s chair and dislodged the knife. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just unopened envelopes containing potential new cases. John shook his head and looked up. 

The skull stared at him with its hollow eye sockets. John put the letters back and picked it up, not quite sure what he was looking for. It was real, that much he could tell. Sherlock’s words echoed through his head. “A friend of mine. When I say friend…” John shook his head and put the skull back. He didn’t really want to know.

“John! I think I found something!” Mary appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a huge smile on her face, holding a syringe. “I told you, looking after Sherlock is like having a drug addicted, teenage son.” She waved the syringe around. John felt a pang of disappointment.

“Sherlock is not a teenager.”

“Then maybe he can stop acting like one. I’m tired of chasing after him.”

John took the syringe from her and examined it closely. It was unmistakably used. His face hardened. First the drug den, then the plane, and now this. Obviously the consulting detective couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. When he turned up, John was going to talk to him about living arrangements.

“Better add every drug den in London to the list of places to search for Sherlock.” He couldn’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice.

“Maybe Bill Wiggins can help us narrow it down.”

“I’ll be sure to check under the bridge as well.”

John threw the syringe on the ground and stormed out the door. He was going to find Sherlock and knock some sense into him.

Once out on the street, he hailed a cab. He knew exactly where to go.

***

Several hours and drug dens later, John still wasn’t any closer to finding his best friend. He scrolled through his messages to make sure he hadn’t missed one from Sherlock. Apart from texts from Mary and Greg there was nothing new. He ignored Mary’s message and opened the one from Greg. Maybe there was news. Instead it was an apology for not being able to check the bolt holes. He was called to a murder investigation.

John rubbed his face as he looked out the window of the cab. He was going to check one more address, but he was rapidly losing any hope of simply finding Sherlock in a drug den. Now that he had cooled off, he wasn’t so sure anymore. It didn’t make sense. Why had he set up a meeting for the three of them if he had no intention of showing up?

He rested his elbow on the edge of the window, biting his lip as he watched London slide by on the other side. His phone vibrated in his hand. His heart jumped to his throat as he glanced down. It was a message from Sherlock.

_Meet me at Baker Street._

He leaned forward and knocked on the glass separating him from the driver.

“Never mind the last address, take me to Baker Street. 221B Baker Street.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comments and kudo's for this work will be incredibly appreciated, since I went through all this trouble to get it to you guys on time. Next chapter is scheduled for Wednesday April 5th.


	3. Did you miss me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** BBC Sherlock is not mine. There would be far more episodes if it was. I just borrow the characters and let them die. Because that’s what people DO.
> 
> **Author note:** Some of you may have noticed that I added an extra chapter to the whole story. The overall story hasn’t changed, but I broke up this chapter in two parts. It was too long and I couldn’t give some elements of the story the emphasis I wanted to. Also, I may, or may not, have written part of this chapter while Sesame Street was playing in the background. Don’t judge me. 
> 
> As always I want to thank my wonderful beta readers: Alex, Peggy and Tami. You guys are awesome and I wouldn't be able to produce this level of quality without your critical eye. Thank you for spending so much time on this project. 
> 
> This work now contains 5 chapters, and will be updated on Wednesdays.

John had only one thing on his mind as he ran up the stairs of 221B Baker Street two steps at a time: Sherlock. Was he okay? Was he safe? John burst into the living room.

“Sherlock?!”

He stopped dead in his tracks. In the dim lighting of the flat he could barely make out the silhouette of the person sitting in Sherlock’s chair. He blinked when he recognized Mary. One of her arms was casually hanging over the armrest while she toyed with a phone in her other hand.

John tilted his head. Had she changed her clothes? She hadn’t been wearing all black this morning, had she? He was quite sure that would have stood out to him. 

“Mary?”

“Hello, John.” 

“Where is Sherlock? Did he text you, too?” John looked around the flat, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. There was no sign of the detective. As a matter of fact, nothing seemed to have changed in the few hours he had been out. His eyes fell on the doors to the kitchen. Why were they closed?

He stepped towards the kitchen. “Is he here?” He asked as he reached to open the doors. Behind him was a loud click. He spun around. Mary was holding a gun, aimed at him. How had he bloody missed that? Some soldier he was. 

“Ah, good. Now I have your attention.” She used the gun to urge John towards the couch. 

He kept his hands slightly raised at his sides. Mary looked like she was looking for a reason to shoot him and he wasn’t going to give her one. He slowly moved forward, glancing over his wife’s cold exterior. His eyes rested on the phone in her hand. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Sherlock’s phone. 

“What’s going on?”

“Sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“Mary, darling. He doesn’t have to sit if he doesn’t want to.” A familiar voice came from the kitchen. One of the doors slid open and a sleek figure stepped into the living room. John’s back went rigid and his hands balled into fists as he recognized Moriarty. 

“Ah, John. Did you miss me?”

“No, I can’t say I did.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Moriarty wandered into the room, his finger tracing over the mantelpiece as he walked by, leaving a trail in the dust. He stopped at the skull and looked up. “Would you mind getting the lights?” 

John’s face hardened as he adopted a military stance, clasping his hands behind his back. He’d be damned if he was going to do anything for this monster. If he wanted more light, he would have to do it himself. 

Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the skull. His hand rested on it before he picked it up, studying it for a moment. His fingertips almost lovingly caressed the bare skull. 

“Do you think Alexander the Great looked like this? Or Napoleon? Thatcher maybe?” He didn’t take his eyes of it as he spoke. “You know, after the flesh clears off.”

“Just the same.” Mary chuckled at John’s answer. He ignored her as he followed Moriarty’s every move. Moriarty held the skull closer to his face, closing his eyes as he sharply inhaled through his nose. His eyes opened when he exhaled.

“Oh, the smell.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he held the skull out to John. “You should try it, it’s… intoxicating.”

John fought the urge to step back. There was something about this scene that made his stomach turn, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. He tore his gaze away from the skull. Moriarty was grinning at him. John clenched his jaw. He wasn’t afraid of this man and damn it, he was going to show that.

“No, thank you.”

Moriarty shrugged. “Your loss.” He faced the skull again.

John looked at Mary. She seemed to be rather enjoying herself, judging by the smug look on her face. John closed his eyes and took a steady breath. He couldn’t afford to lose his head now. 

“You know, this skull had a tongue once.” John’s eyes snapped open. Moriarty held the skull close to his face, his lips hovering over the teeth. His head tilted like he was going to kiss it. “Said the cleverest things, too. Extraordinary. Exciting.” His eyes lingered on the empty eye sockets. He sighed and looked down as his shoulders dropped. “Not anymore, though.”

John frowned at the sudden change in demeanor. His eyes followed the skull as Moriarty lowered it. What in God’s name was going on? 

“Haven’t you ever wondered who this was? A lawyer? A jester, maybe?” He raised the skull to eye level again, holding it at an arm's length. “Or… a detective?”

John’s chest suddenly felt tight as his breath got caught in his throat. His eyes shot back at Moriarty. What did he just say? Surely he had heard it wrong. 

“A detective!” A wide smile spread over Moriarty’s face. He slowly inhaled as he looked at John. The look on his face was one of pure excitement and it was terrifying. A shiver went down John’s spine. He stared at the skull. Could that be…? His mouth went dry. He tried to retain his composure, but his breath became shaky.

“Oh my god…” He whispered. “Sherlock…”

“I really thought his skull would be bigger.” 

Was that disappointment? John did his best to keep his breathing under control as anger flooded through him. He released his hands, his shoulders tensed. 

“Why?”

Mary straightened in the chair slightly, but Moriarty didn’t seem too impressed by John’s change in posture.

“Oh, John, I always said I’d kill him one day. He was fun to have around, playing our little game…”

John’s phone rang, interrupting Moriarty’s speech. John felt the vibrations against his chest, but ignored it.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“Please, I insist.”

John held Moriarty’s gaze as he answered the call. “Yes?”

_“John, it’s Greg.”_ His voice sounded raw and John could make out a slight tremor. He knew what was going on before Greg could even continue.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” John said quietly. “You found him.”

_“Well, yes… I’m sorry, John.”_ Both men were both silent for a moment. 

John inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He had to know, even if he didn’t really want to know. “Decapitated? Head missing?” 

There was another moment of silence on the other side of the line. _“How did you…”_

John opened his eyes and caught sight of Moriarty. He was just standing there, with one hand in his pocket while he weighed the skull in the other, and he was _smiling._ Fucking smiling. John felt his rage building, his muscles tensing. 

“Moriarty is here.” John lowered the phone. He was going to kill this man with his bare hands. Slowly and painfully, and he was going to enjoy every single second of it. He moved closer. Mary cleared her throat, reminding John of the position he was in. Moriarty didn’t seem very impressed. He rolled his eyes. 

“Still so touchingly loyal.” 

John tore his gaze away from Moriarty and made eye contact with his wife instead. She was still sitting in the chair with the gun. He was fairly certain she was aiming for his previously injured shoulder. 

“You knew…”

“Oh, John, of course I knew. Who do you think made Sherlock disappear in the first place?” She tilted her head and smiled. John’s eyes narrowed.

“He found out.”

“He obviously thought he figured it out. He came to offer me help.” The smile finally reached her eyes. Moriarty chuckled.

“It was quite touching, how he was convinced she was just caught up in between. So desperately trying to believe she was somehow on your side. I never thought I would live to see the day when Sherlock Holmes fell prey to sentiment. A dangerous disadvantage indeed.”

Moriarty put the skull back on the mantelpiece. 

John balled his hands into fists as it took him all the willpower he had to not launch himself at Moriarty. Getting himself killed wasn’t going to bring Sherlock back, nor help him get justice. He needed to keep it together, somehow. His eyes rested on Mary. 

“Why?”

“The real question is, why not?” 

John looked at Moriarty. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Mary.”

It was a small victory, but it felt good. John was quite pleased with himself for his little retaliation. He looked back at Mary, who gave him another sickeningly sweet smile. 

“Because he asked me to. Nicely.” 

“You should put that on a T-shirt.” John didn’t take his eye off her. Her smile widened but there was no reply. 

Moriarty chuckled as he moved past Sherlock’s chair towards the window. John followed his movements from the corner of his eye.

“I told Sherlock what I had planned. He didn’t seem to care much.” 

The corner of John’s mouth twitched into a smile. It was good to hear that in the end Sherlock hadn’t given Moriarty what he wanted so badly. He could hear Sherlock’s voice in his head. _‘Dull, boring, predictable.’_

Moriarty moved the curtains aside and looked down at the people passing on the street below. Those ordinary people, having no clue what was happening in the scruffy little flat above them. They were just leading their ordinary lives. John almost envied them. 

“Then I mentioned you.” Moriarty looked back at John. He slipped a hand in his pocket and let the curtain fall in place again. “He begged me to leave you alone, not to hurt you. It was disappointing. Wasn’t it, Mary, dear?” 

“It rather was, but to be fair, you did go into excruciating detail of what was going to happen.”

John looked at his wife. His cold, heartless wife who took everything from him. He clenched his jaw and his eyes darkened. She didn’t seem impressed. 

Moriarty threw his head back and let out an excited laugh.

“I did, didn’t I?” John and Moriarty locked eyes and there was a moment of silence in which Moriarty studied John’s face with a newfound curiosity. 

“Is it true you still keep your British Army L9A1 in the top drawer of your desk?” 

John blinked. What? 

“Oh, who am I kidding? I know you do.” Moriarty let out another chuckle. He moved back into the room towards Mary. “I think it’s time to leave now, don’t you?” 

Mary nodded and shifted in the chair.  
Moriarty strolled towards the door, pausing in the doorway before turning back.

“Bye bye, Johnny boy. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” His hands formed an imaginary gun that he put in his mouth. His head made a jerking motion, as if he was blowing his own brains out. 

John’s eyes grew wide and a shiver went down his spine. He did his best to hide his reaction, but Moriarty smiled as he noticed the effect the gesture had. He threw one last look at the skull on the mantelpiece and walked out the door. 

John’s attention was drawn by the sound of Mary getting to her feet. She stood up remarkably faster than John was used to the last couple of weeks. There was nothing left of her slow and clumsy manner earlier in the day. 

She circled around the table, keeping her weapon aimed at his shoulder. 

“Goodbye, John.” She backed out of the door, and disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and supporting my writing. Don't forget to leave a comment to let me know what you think. You can expect the next update to be on Wednesday April 12th.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave me a comment to let me know what you thought of this chapter.


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